


Practice to Deceive

by thejabberwock



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Academy Era, Alternate Universe, Angst, Asexuality, Awkward Sex, Dubious Consent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Acephobia, M/M, Pining, Post-Five Year Mission, Sexual Identity, Triumvirate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-09 21:36:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11113347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thejabberwock/pseuds/thejabberwock
Summary: Jim Kirk has spent years cultivating his playboy reputation. But as they say,oh what a tangled web…





	Practice to Deceive

__

_~k/s~_

**Starfleet Academy, 2255**

"Name?" the bored cadet asks as Jim exits the shuttle, with Len just behind.

"Jim Kirk. Hi," he offers, but the cadet is busy scanning his tablet and doesn't answer. He finally looks up with a frown.

"You're the last minute addition," he says, like it's an accusation. "You and…" His eyes narrow as they sweep over Len. "You must be Leonard McCoy." He squints at his PADD. "Doctor Leonard McCoy?"

"Guilty."

The frowny lips thin and then the cadet reaches behind him to retrieve two PADDs. "You got the last room. You're sharing it with one other cadet. Usually it's two to a room, but then most new cadets have the foresight to sign up on time. Here, take these." He shoves the tablets at them. "Room assignments, class schedules, information about your physicals. You'll need to see the quartermaster for your uniforms, and set up an appointment with your advisors before you choose your classes. You've missed the deadlines, you know, so you'll be lucky to get any that you want."

He turns away before either of them can reply.

"You know, I think that's the friendliest cadet I've met so far," Jim says with a grin. Len shakes his head.

"I think I'm going to regret this," he sighs. He flicks on his tablet, but Jim is faster, finds their room assignment and hooks a thumb to the left.

"Come on, Bones, let's go find ourselves a home."

Len eyes him. "Bones?"

"What? No good?"

Len shrugs though. "Better than workaholic who cares more about corpses than me."

"Jocelyn's pet name?"

"One of her favorites."

Smiling, Jim ducks his head and leads the way to the right corridor.

The door to the quarters is open, and their roommate is already there. He's bent over a desk, alternating his attention between three tablets. He has dark hair, and Jim can see one elegantly curved ear. A Vulcan, if he had to guess.

The room is tiny, two beds crammed close together, with a third adjacent to one of them. There's barely enough room to walk, but Jim doesn't care. Len, on the other hand, looks exasperated. "How are we supposed to live like this?"

Their roommate looks up from his tablets. Jim smiles, offers a Vulcan salute and a standard greeting in Golic, to which the cadet raises both eyebrows as he stands. He reciprocates, and then switches to standard. "I am Spock," he says. "I assume you are the other occupants of these quarters."

Jim perches on the empty desk beside Spock's, and nods. "Jim Kirk. And this is Leonard McCoy. Sorry about being crammed in with you, but we're the extraneous recruits and apparently they have nowhere else to put us."

"Your apology is unnecessary," Spock says flatly. "I too chose to attend Starfleet Academy after the deadline for acceptance had passed."

"Oh yeah?"

"I have no objection to sharing quarters with you," Spock continues without answering. "If you object to my presence, I suggest you inform the quartermaster. I have been informed, however, that there are no other quarters available."

McCoy is gaping at him. Jim covers his own bemusement with a smile and a placating raise of his palms. "Hey, I have no objections. I'm used to cramped quarters. You have any objections, Bones?"

Len's wide-eyed look of disbelief is answer enough. He shrugs out of his coat though and asks, "Have you claimed a bed yet?"

Spock folds his hands behind his back, an imitation of parade rest that is rife with tension. "I have not."

"Great." The jacket is tossed onto the bed closest to the door. "This one's mine, then."

In reply, Spock turns and collects his tablets in a neat stack. He doesn't say a word as he exits into the corridor. Jim and Len watch him go.

"Well, he seems lovely," Len drawls when the door closes.

Frowning to himself, Jim slides off the desk. "You think he's all right?"

"I think he's got more objections about us sharing this space than he knows what to do with."

"You think so?"

"Did he seem like he was happy to see us?"

"He's a Vulcan though," Jim reminds him. "It's hard to tell what they're really thinking."

Len squints at him. "How do you know the language?"

Jim's grin is wide this time. "Some people talk in their sleep. Now come on," he says, turning his friend with a quick shove, "let's go mingle."

"Mingle?" Len echoes with a skeptical eye, but he goes where he's pushed.

"Yeah, mingle," Jim says, smirking now. "Do you have any idea how  _hot_  we're going to look in uniform?"

"No thanks," Len mutters. "I've had my fill of romance."

"Who said anything about romance, Bones?" Jim waggles his eyebrows, laughs when Bones rolls his eyes.

"You're just a cliché, aren't you?"

"Hey, everyone's got to be good at something, right?" In reality, in Jim's reality, anyway, talent has nothing to do with it. But it's easier to pretend. Bravado about sex. Now  _that_ , he's good at.

 

\--

Classes start the next day; no time to acclimate, but Jim is up before the sun; he's used to it after years of living on his grandparents' farm; he prefers to sleep as little as possible.

Spock's bed is empty; meticulously made. Jim wonders if he slept at all. Bones is awake as well, bent over his PADDs. "Morning," Jim says cheerfully. Bones grunts something that could possibly be a greeting. Smiling to himself, Jim gets out of bed, stretching as he goes to the replicator and orders coffee, doctored with sugar and cream, just the way he likes. "Want anything?"

"Coffee, black."

Jim orders it for him, settling it on the little table by the bed and heads for the shower.

By the time he's out, Bones is packing up his bag. "You have five minutes," he says shortly.

Jim takes three.

"You didn't eat," Len says after they consult one of the corridor computers for directions.

"I never eat in the morning."

"You shouldn't skip breakfast. It's the most important meal of the day."

"Yes, mom," Jim teases, and his friend makes a sour face.

"I'm a doctor, not your mother."

Jim laughs, but has no time for a friendly rejoinder. A group of cadets from last night sees them from down the corridor and waves them over. They have the same first class—History of the Federation—so they go together, talking and laughing. Even Len, who seems to have forgotten he's supposed to be the world's grumpiest M.D.

There are more friendly faces once they reach the classroom, and Jim is secretly relieved. He was afraid most of them might be assholes, like the big cupcake from the bar.

No one seems to care that Jim joined at the last minute, or that his face still shows the signs of an epic beating. They jockey for seats when the instructor comes in, an elderly commandant who looks out at them with resigned eyes.

"If you have not yet read the assigned chapter," he begins without preamble, "I suggest you leave now."

Jim hasn't read the assigned chapter, but he settles into the ergonomically sound chair, twirling his stylus in his fingers and glances around the room. Everyone is grouped in clusters, or huddled together two by two.

Except a lone figure at the bottom of the amphitheater. There are empty chairs surrounding him, as if he specifically asked to be left alone. Which, maybe he did. It's Spock.

Bones nudges Jim in the ribs, and when he looks over, he realises the instructor asked him a question. He politely asks for a repeat, and even without having read the manual, he answers correctly. The instructor moves on, and Jim listens to the rest of the lecture with half an ear, attention straying back to Spock every few minutes.

 

\--

When the class ends, Bones bugs him about food again. "If you tell me you don't eat lunch—"

"I eat lunch," Jim assures him, laughing. "Everyone's invited," he says to their impromptu group—and to anyone else who might be listening; more the merrier, as far as he's concerned. Especially the green-haired Veberian who looks like she might enjoy his company later.

With her partner, who looks at Jim with promise in his violet eyes. Three people tangled together at the end of the night is always better than two.

"Come on," Bones says impatiently, pulling his attention away. "I'm starved."

They move as a clump, but Jim pauses when he reaches the aisle, crooking his neck to see the front of the room and finds Spock gathering his materials while the rest of the cadets part around him, jostling one another and talking excitedly on their way to lunch.

It's obvious that he has no plans to join any of them.

"Seriously, kid—" Bones prods at him again. "—growing a beard here."

Jim half turns to him, gesturing over his shoulder. "I'm going to see if Spock wants to come."

Len peers around him. "Spock? I don't know, Jim, he doesn't look like he wants company."

"Well." Jim adjusts his bag over his shoulder. "Just in case. I won't force him or anything. I'll be right there, okay? Save me a seat."

"Fine, but if this is just an excuse to skip lunch—"

"Trust me, Bones, when you see how much food I can put away, you'll be horrified." He nudges his friend on his way and takes the steps at a jog. Spock is placing his Starfleet-issue bag carefully over his shoulder.

"Hey," Jim says with a smile. "A bunch of us are going to get lunch together. You wanna come?"

Spock's dark eyebrows draw together in obvious confusion. "You desire my presence while you eat?"

"Well, it's lunch time so I just wondered if you wanted company. No reason to be all by yourself if you don't want to be." Spock still looks confused, as though someone inviting him to do anything is a foreign concept. "It might be nice to get to know some of the other cadets," Jim adds. "That's logical, to cultivate positive relationship with your peers, right?"

Spock considers him. "Indeed," he answers carefully, cautiously. "If you are certain?"

Jim smiles. "I am. Come on," he says, falling back a little so they can walk out side by side. "Len will come looking for me if we don't there soon. He's a bit of a mother hen, our new roommate."

"I am unfamiliar with that term," Spock says, eyebrows peaked with interest as they walk toward the door without further encouragement. They keep pace the whole way to the mess, and a steady stream of conversation.

Maybe it's not that he wanted to sit alone, Jim thinks as he introduces him to the rest of the group. He greets them with more ease than he did the initial invitation and that's definitely a good sign.

Maybe he was just waiting for someone to ask.

 

\--

"You've been at that game for weeks," Bones grumbles as he drops into an empty chair across from Jim.

"Three weeks and four days," Spock corrects without taking his eyes off the chessboard.

"But no more than that," Jim says cheerfully as he moves his knight, "because today is the day I finally beat you."

"You've been saying that for six months now." Bones yawns widely, catching Jim's attention from the game.

"Late night?" he asks with mischief but Len just scowls at him.

"Do you ever think of anything other than sex? You sure don't study."

"And yet I'm passing all of my classes with flying colors. In fact," Jim says, eyeing Spock, "I do believe Spock and I are neck and neck for first place."

"Your current scores exceed mine by point three percent," is the unchagrined reply. Jim grins.

"I guess that means I'm beating you in everything today."

Spock's reply is to put his queen in danger. He arches an eyebrow, which only adds to Jim's enjoyment.

"You always claim to have no emotions, but you love decimating my self-esteem, don't you?"

Spock's dark eyes are amused. It's not something that other people seem to notice, but Jim always does. He puffs an exaggerated sigh and drums his fingers against the table as he considers his next move. Before he can decide, the boson signals the end of the breakfast hour.

"It seems you will have to wait until tomorrow to take your victory," Spock says and Jim looks up with a grin. Spock raises his eyebrows, an echoing acknowledgement and scans the board to note the position of the pieces for tomorrow.

"Come on—" Jim nudges Len's foot. "—you know Spock hates to be late."

"I'm on duty in medical today," Len tells him through another cracking yawn.

"Try to catch a nap," Jim says as he stands; gives Bone's shoulder a jostle. "You look like shit." Len waves him off. Spock is already standing, waiting. Jim joins him and together, they fall in step as they walk out of the mess.

Their walk is waylaid by a blond cadet who calls Jim's name. They both stop and the cadet introduces himself as Sean although Jim thinks they have a few classes together. "Maybe we could have drinks later?" he asks, paying no attention to Spock standing at Jim's side as he smiles a warm invitation.

This one, Jim thinks, will be very good at the after. He seems nice. But as much as he would like to spend the night with strong arms tucked around him, Jim has plans with Spock tonight; to spar in the gym with lirpas. It isn't something he wants to miss.

"I'd love to," Jim says with his own matching smile, "but I have plans tonight. Tomorrow?"

Sean looks pleased. "2100?" he suggests. "Suveen's Pub?" He calls over his shoulder as he rejoins a group of friends leaving the mess. Jim nods and with a grin, Sean goes back to his group.

"There is no need to keep our appointment on my behalf," Spock tells him as they begin walking again. Jim glances over at him. The warmth is gone from his tone; his face is the mask of indifference he wears for everyone else.

"It's not on your behalf. I've been looking forward to it."

Spock turns his head, eyes curious as he searches Jim's face. But Jim is sincere. To be honest, when it's a choice between Spock and anybody else, Spock always wins. Which is something Jim doesn't want to examine too closely. Spock's too important.

"Besides," Jim says, relieved to see some of the distance easing from his friend's face, "you promised to demonstrate the ahn-woon this time." Jim's been looking forward to Spock teaching him to use the whip-like weapon so prized by Vulcans.

"As you wish," Spock says neutrally, but there's warmth in his voice again and Jim smiles to hear it. "We should increase our pace if we do not wish to be late."

"You don't wish to be late," Jim teases. "I'm late all the time."

"Your rate of tardiness drastically decreases when you are in my presence," Spock points out and Jim laughs.

"Just another reason for you to stick by me then," he says.

"Indeed," Spock agrees quietly. Definitely, Jim shouldn't think too hard on the satisfaction that blooms in his chest. He's got Spock by his side and that's enough.

 

\--

_Come on, Jim, you gotta relax if you want me to fuck you._

The grunted words rattle in Jim's head as he stumbles back to his quarters. There was nothing unusual about them, nothing cruel. Panted and strained as Sean pressed into him while Jim curled his fingers into the sheets and pictured the stars as he would see them from the farmhouse.

Cepheus and Aquarius. Pegasus and Lacerta. He traced them over and over through the brisk autumn nights until they were better known to him than the lines crossing his palms.

He traces the points of light again every time he spends a few hours in someone's bed, the patterns against his eyelids as if they've been tattooed on. But sometimes he concentrates too hard on the shapes.

Sometimes he forgets to insist on jerking himself off while whoever is pressed against his back fucks him. Usually, they don't notice. It's better when they don't. Easier to get to the cuddling—impossible to get to the cuddling if they do.

Sean noticed.

Which is why Jim is stumbling, only half-dressed back to the quarters he shares with Spock and Len. It takes three fumbling attempts to get the door open. It's dark when he slips in, trying to be quiet. All he needs right now is for either of them—

"It's oh one hundred," Bones grouses from where his face is smooshed into his pillow. "Can't you spend the night with at least one of them?"

But Jim doesn't do that either. Most of the night usually, almost all of it if he's feeling particularly lonely. But he always leaves before morning. Doesn't want to give any chance for a morning fuck. There are rarely cuddles in the mornings—at least not long enough to make the rest of it bearable.

"Sorry," he mumbles across the space. He's moving quietly, trying to keep his limp under wraps, even though Len can't see him in the dark. "… didn't mean to wake you up. Spock's not… he's not here, is he?"

"It's fine," Len grunts. "And no, he's not. He's got an overnight shift in the science lab. Christ, watch where you're going," he scolds as Jim knocks into one of their dressers and nearly topples. "Are you drunk?"

Jim grimaces and clutches at his elbow, but it's easy to ignore that to focus on the relief that Spock isn't here to see this. It's hard enough to walk with a twisted ankle; impossible in the dark. "No. Fuck. I'm fine," he says quickly because the dark shape that is Len is pushing up from the bed with a heaving sigh and shuffling over to him. "I'm not, Len, I'm—"

"What the hell…" Jim's arm is captured with an unpleasantly strong grip and Len's face is hovering too close. "Jim…"

He pulls away, finishes the limping trip to his bed. A shower would be better, like he always does after someone fucks him. As hot as he can stand it. But right now, he just wants to curl under his covers and pretend he wasn't just punched in the face by the guy who only a few hours ago kissed him beneath his jaw and called him beautiful.

He releases his breath slowly as he sits on the mattress, moving carefully. He blinks in surprise when one of the lights engage—at their lowest setting, but still. Bones is standing in front of him then, but Jim stares steadfastly at the door beyond his hip and convinces himself that he's not about to be interrogated.

"Jim."

Jim looks up, can't really help himself, but it's just for a second; until he sees the worry in his friend's eyes. He looks away again, swallows loudly when a hand curls weightlessly around his shoulder.

"Did he hit you?" The question is quiet, combustive.

"It wasn't—" He shakes his head, swallows and tries again. "It wasn't like that."

"What was it like?" Len asks, the low growl in his voice only making it worse.

"Nothing, Len, just—" He tries to pull away but his friend's grip is iron. And then he is kneeling, hand trailing down Jim's arm, feeling for broken bones, it seems. "I'm fine, he didn't…"

"Didn't what?" Again, rigid words, and when Jim doesn't answer, Len demands, "What did he do?"

Under the pressure of that stare, Jim deflates. "Ankle," he mutters. "I twisted it."

"After he hit you?"

Jim doesn't answer, because he doesn't need to. He's obviously got a black eye, or the beginnings of one anyway. Or maybe just a bruise on his cheek. That's where it hurts. Bones' jaw is taut, his hand shaking where it grips Jim's wrist. But he says nothing else, rises in silence to retrieve the medkit he keeps in his top drawer.

He kneels again, and Jim can see the flush of anger in his cheeks as he runs a scanner over the ankle. "Nothing's broken. Stay off of it tomorrow. I'm going to give you something for the pain."

Jim doesn't have the energy to protest.

"Sean Finnegan, right?" Len asks once the hypo hisses against his skin.

Jim shifts, won't look at him. But it's useless to lie. "I guess?"

"Right," Len says beneath his breath. "Good." He pushes up from the floor. "I'll take care of it."

Jim's hand shoots out, catches his friend's arm and this time he does look, knows his eyes are wild and panicked. "Don't," he says in a rush. "Don't do anything, it's not—it's not a big deal, okay?"

"Not a big deal? Not a big deal that the guy who took you to bed knocked you around?" Bones' voice is rising.

"It's not his fault, okay?" Jim says, words nearly inaudible. It hurts to breathe. "So, just… just leave it alone.  _Please_."

Len stares at him for so long that Jim looks away first, blinks at the uniforms, all hanging in a neat row, in his closet. They have exams tomorrow. Exams that Bones probably stayed up all night studying for, and now Jim is keeping him—

"What do you mean, it's not his fault?"

"Nothing," Jim exhales. "Seriously, don't worry about it. It's late—"

"And I have exams tomorrow, and if you don't tell me I'll be worrying instead of sleeping and then I'll fail and it will be all your fault."

Jim glances at his friend, finds the small half-smile that doesn't reach his eyes. He looks away again, clenches his jaw. It shouldn't matter. This is just Len, his friend Len who won't care. He won't understand, but he won't care. He'll probably scoff about it, maybe suggest therapy. But it isn't like Jim's never heard that before. He already knows there's something wrong with him.

"I wasn't enjoying it," he finally says, fingers squeezing the blankets and still refusing to meet his friend's eyes. It's true, not a lie. Not a lie just because you don't tell everything.

"So, he punched you? Who the hell is this guy? If he thinks he can—"

"I never enjoy it."

Len's tirade cuts off, and it's suffocating and quiet. But he doesn't get it yet. "What do you mean?" he demands. "You've slept with him before? I thought you just met him—you didn't say you'd—"

"I didn't meet him before," Jim sighs, stops strangling the blanket and drops his head into his palms. It always goes like this—the few times he's tried to explain. It shouldn't bother him so much that this is no different. "I never enjoy it with anyone, okay? It's my own fault for going home with him. It's not his fault I didn't tell him, and people they expect you to enjoy it, because people do." He's talking so fast, but he can't stop now. "It's normal to enjoy it. It's not his fault, he should have hit me harder, honestly, and I know there's something wrong with me, I know, I've been over this, and I know everything you're going to say so can we just—"

"Jesus christ, Jim…"

He lets his uneven words peter out, tries to smooth out his breathing as he swallows. "I know," he says quietly. "It's not normal. And I know you don't want to hear—"

"Stop putting words in my mouth and shut up for a minute."

Jim closes his mouth, chances a glance and finds worried lines etched across Len's forehead. Bones sighs, runs a hand over his mouth and slowly pushes up to stand. He folds his arms across his chest, eyes still daggers. "That doesn't give this asshole the right to hit you. Did he—" He clenches his jaw, swallows. "—did he do anything… Force you?"

It isn't funny, but Jim smiles. "I'm the one who uses people." It isn't funny at all.

Len's eyes narrow, but Jim cuts him off, "It's not his fault, okay? It's just not. I used him, just like he said, so can you really blame him for hitting me?"

"Yes," Len says through his teeth. Jim sighs, rubs his eyes.

"You're biased, and look you're being really nice about this—"

"What else would I be? Just because some assholes convinced you that there's something wrong with you—"

"There is, Len." He has to swallow to force the rest of the words out. "I don't like sex—"

"So what?" Len shakes his head, sits heavily beside him and Jim tries not to sag into the warmth of his bare skin. "Sex is just sex. It's not everything, and it's not something you can help either." At Jim's skeptical face scrunch, his friend shrugs, leans forward a little to prop his elbows on his thighs. "I mean, come on, it's the same as any other sexual preference and there are endless varieties of those. Would you call any of them abnormal?"

"No." Jim shivers. He's still not wearing a shirt. Len squints up at him, tugs the blanket from his own bed and Jim smiles gratefully as it's shoved into his arms. "But that's just it—"

"Yeah, it is," Bones says firmly. He's got that gleam that signals Jim will not be allowed an argument. "It's what it is. It's not a fault just because someone tells you it must be—"

"Someone…"

"The whole damn galaxy then, Jim." Bones' glare is pretty impressive. "Listen," he says, tone gentling, "you shouldn't… You shouldn't pretend—"

"No, I know," Jim says quickly, straightening; realizes he's slouched in comfortably to his friend's side. "It's shitty for me to—"

"That's not what I mean." Len nudges his shoulder, smiles and leans back in just like he's meant to be there. And Jim waits, with shards of broken glass inside his chest for him to explain. Say something that will take this awful feeling away. But not even Bones can do that. "Maybe if you…"

"Tell them first?" Jim prompts, lips twisted. "Guys don't generally like to hear you have no interest in their dicks."

Len's smile is mostly grimace. "Yeah." He's quiet then, expression scrunched as he tries to work it out.

"It's all right," Jim gives him the out, straightens and shoves the blanket back at his chest. "I'm fine, let's just… I need to sleep."

He can tell Len wants to say something else—probably a lot of something elses. But he just nods and stands. He pats Jim's shoulder awkwardly before moving away and climbing back in his own bunk.

Jim orders the lights off and gets under his covers, moving carefully in deference to his ankle. He stares at the shadows on the ceiling, and prays sleep will come quickly.

It doesn't.

Eventually, Len whispers, "I don't get it." His voice is loud in the darkness, even though he's whispering.

Jim tenses, but says anyway, "Get what?"

"It's just…" The blankets rustle and Jim closes his eyes just in case he's sitting up. "If you don't like it…"

Why do it? Why bother? Why lie? Jim can hear all the things Len doesn't say. He licks his lips, hopes he's not squeaky. "It's just nice, sometimes," he tries to explain. "To…" Everything sounds wrong. "Afterward, when it's over."

The silence stretches on, suffocating. "To cuddle, you mean?" Len finally asks, and it's hushed and awful.

"Yeah."

Another rustle and this time Jim is sure Len is sitting up, watching him, probably hoping that something will make sense.

"But don't you think," he begins, stops abruptly and then restarts in the voice Jim has only ever heard him use when he's genuinely sick. "Sex isn't the only thing that's important. Just hear me out, kid. It doesn't have to be with someone you barely know, like Sean. Instead of just finding some one-off, if you had someone—"

"No," Jim says gruffly. "No," he tries again, covers his face with his hand and reminds himself that this doesn't matter. "I've… tried that. It's… I can't." Because it's always worse when he feels something. When they realize he can't be what they need. It's better never to let it get that far. He thinks of Spock then, how much it would hurt to lose him. Better, far better never to let it get that far. "Look, it's not their fault, okay? It's not Sean's fault. He can't help it either."

"He didn't have to hit you," Len says sharply. "Don't defend him."

Jim pushes at his closed eyeballs until stars dance in front of his eyes. Eventually, when he sort of figures Len is asleep, his friend's voice floats over and Jim has to shake himself awake to make sense of it, "There's nothing wrong with you."

Taking a deep breath, Jim exhales, "Yeah." It's not an agreement and Bones knows it.

But what he says is, "I'll wake you up after my test."

"I have class," Jim mumbles back.

"You never go to class."

"I go to class sometimes."

"When Spock's there to make you," Len sighs. "You're lucky attendance isn't mandatory."

Jim smiles a little. They've had this argument before. And it's one Jim happily wins, mostly because he aces all his classes. Even the ones he doesn't show up for—all of the ones Spock isn't in with him. He yawns, pulls the blanket close around his shoulder as he shifts. He can see Len's outline in the moonlight. "Don't do anything," he says quietly.

Len knows exactly what he means. "No promises."

Jim closes his eyes. His eyelids feel like they're filled with sand and his head is starting to throb. "Please?"

His friend's heavy sigh carries across the space between their beds. "Fine," he mutters. "But if he ever—"

"Trust me," Jim says, and his voice only cracks a little, "he won't be coming anywhere near me again." He made that perfectly clear.

"Jim…"

"I know," Jim whispers, has to scrub at his eyes with the heel of his hand. "It's okay."

It's absolutely not, but Bones doesn't contradict him. "Go to sleep," he says softly. "I'll wake you up after my test."

Jim swallows through the ache. "Thanks." A pause so he can be sure his voice won't shake. "And don't… don't tell Spock, okay?"

Len doesn't ask why, and for the first time, Jim wonders if his friend knows how he feels. How much Spock means to him.

"I won't," he promises quietly. "Go to sleep, kid."

Jim closes his eyes then, scrunches his cheek into the pillow, but sleep is elusive. He listens to Len's breathing, but judging by its uneven measures, he isn't sleeping either.

 

\--

When Jim wakes up, it's to find Spock sitting on the bed adjacent, fingers steepled over his lips. Which is not usually Jim's first sight in the mornings. Not that he would normally be opposed, except Spock has a  _look_  in his eyes, of which Jim has learned to be wary.

It's the way he narrows them just before he eviscerates someone.

And when he speaks, his voice is cold, "I would know who harmed you."

Jim blinks, surprised at the tone. "Um. It's not..."

"You went out with Leonard to imbibe alcohol, did you not? To meet the cadet who issued an invitation yesterday."

"Yeah, but—"

"Were you involved in an altercation with another who was inebriated?"

Jim frowns at him and sits up carefully; his ankle seems fine. "I wasn't inebriated, and what's with the third degree?"

"Your face is bruised. And the doctor was unusually insistent that you not be woken."

"Oh." Jim rubs at the good side of his face, grimaces anyway. "I got into a fight," he lies; with a shrug so that Spock will understand it's no big deal. And it doesn't matter anyway. Sean won't be able spread it around that Jim can't get it up, not if it reflects poorly on his own sexual prowess. "Just me being stupid again."

Spock tilts his head, clearly considering at which angle to approach the statement. Expectedly, he chooses, "You are not mentally deficient."

Despite himself, Jim chuckles. "Len would argue with you about that. Come on, Spock, you know how I am. I was just drunk and I hit on someone's girlfriend." Because that sounds plausible. He smiles. "I'm fine, I promise."

"It is illogical to strike someone because he expressed an interest in your mate."

Jim squeezes his arm on the way past. "Humans are illogical, though. I'm going to grab a shower. You can go on to class if you want."

"I will wait."

Jim pauses at the bathroom door. "Are you sure? I don't want you to be late."

Spock stands, but he doesn't move toward the door. "I will wait," he repeats. "Please endeavor to accelerate your usual pace."

Jim smiles; he never can seem to help it with Spock. "I'll hurry." He ducks into the head.

Despite his admonishment, Spock is waiting patiently when he comes out, and they walk to class together in amiable quiet.

Spock sticks by his side for the next week. Until Jim meets a cadet with ginger ringlets and tendency to lean in close when she speaks. Jim takes her out to dinner that night, doesn't fuck up his usual routine, and while he enjoys being wrapped in her later, he tries not to think about what it would be like to do this with Spock.

Spock, who can't be found for days afterward, since he's apparently taken on a special project with one of the instructors.

And when he returns, he seems to have forgotten his intention to be Jim's bodyguard.

Jim doesn't like to admit how much he misses it. Even though they spend as much time together as they always have. In classes and over a chessboard, Spock trouncing him at least eighty-five percent of the time. And at meals, which they've habitually shared since that first one. Sparring sessions every Tuesday at 1800 hours.

Jim can't imagine life without him.

Which is why it's a relief, a palpable joy, when they're assigned together to the Enterprise two years later, a Romulan named Nero cutting short their time at the academy. With Len too, and even as they race toward disaster, Jim revels in it. It's not exactly what he wants, but it's more than he could have hoped for.

 

**USS Enterprise, 2263**

"Five years," Jim sighs as he gazes at the stars beyond the viewport. Just a few more days and they'll be looking out at the constellations he grew up with. "Hard to believe, isn't it?"

"I assume you are speaking metaphorically, Captain."

Jim glances over at his first officer with a smile. They've shared this ship for five years, and have since Pike—and more than half the fleet—was lost during the battle with Nero, after Pike gave Jim emergency field command. Five years with Spock by his side. Exactly as he always wanted it to be.

"I'm going to miss this, Spock."  _Miss you_ , is what he really means, but it sounds too final. And this is not final; it's not the end. Spock will be teaching at the Academy for the next year while Jim works on the refit with Scotty and teaches a class or two himself. Only ten months and then they'll be together again, back on the Enterprise where they belong.

"I too find myself reluctant to return to Earth," Spock murmurs.

"We'll be back here before you know it," Jim says with more cheer than he feels. They'll still see each other, maybe have lunch together—dinner sometimes. And even a game of chess afterward if Jim can convince him.

Not that Spock has ever been particularly difficult to persuade when it comes to chess—or anything else, really. But then, on the ship, Spock's always nearby—always beside him.

This is different.

"Ten months is a considerable amount of time," Spock says, his voice softer than usual. His hands are behind his back, but his eyes are watchful, contemplative.

"It is," Jim agrees in the same quiet tone. He clears his throat. "Have you… made any plans to visit your parents?"

"My mother has asked that I visit New Vulcan before the first teaching session begins."

"Oh? Anything wrong?"

Spock's eyes soften. "Negative. She simply expressed a desire to see me."

"Well, it has been awhile."

"Three years, two months, five days."

Jim shakes his head, unable to stop the smile. Spock's own mouth quirks at the corner, just a little. Just enough. Jim risks a light grip on his forearm before turning back to the viewport. "Any other big plans?"

"I am uncertain, Captain."

Jim glances over at him. "You, Spock?" he asked, smiling a little. "Uncertain?"

"I do not yet have all of the relevant data," his first officer explains. Jim turns to face him, still smiling; curious now.

"For the projects you and Bones are working on?" And Jim is not at all jealous of the time they'll be spending in a lab somewhere at Command.

Spock's head tilts as he considers. "There is indeed a formidable quantity of data to be culled while we remain on Earth."

"It doesn't all have to be done before the next tour starts," Jim tries to reassure him. "I could help." He shrugs when Spock's eyebrow lifts in surprise. "If it would be helpful. I know my way around a lab." He doesn't mean to sound defensive, regrets it as soon as the words are said.

"I am aware of your myriad talents," Spock tells him quietly. "I meant no offense."

Jim shoots him a small smile, turns his attention back to the viewport. "I know."

They are quiet then, Jim reminding himself how very off limits his first officer is. Not only because Spock has never shown any interest, but because nothing has changed. Jim doesn't date people he likes—loves, in this case.

And he does love Spock. It's an ache that spears his chest, and has for the past seven years. It already hurts enough.

"Drs. McCoy and Marcus intend to spend the ensuing months apart," Spock eventually murmurs, and Jim blinks at the non sequitur, tries to follow along.

"Carol's project was finally approved," he begins.

"The Genesis Project, yes. Hers is a fascinating thesis. One with which McCoy is qualified to assist."

Jim shrugs, although he's inwardly smiling. "He's never really been a fan of it. He doesn't like the idea of playing god."

"Yes," Spock murmurs, his dry tone making it clear he does not share the doctor's viewpoint. "I have been apprised of his opinion."

Jim is no longer amused, though. "Are you thinking of joining Carol?" he asks carefully. His chest is tight, but he tries to keep a neutral expression. Just because he doesn't think he can physically survive without Spock being nearby—

"Negative," Spock says, just as if it had never occurred to him. In fact, the sweep of his eyebrows says he's surprised by the question. "I believe I will be quite content with my duties."

"Oh. Well…" The relief hurts more than it should. "Good." Jim swallows as he forces a smile. He has to turn away again, to the backdrop of stars that have always managed to soothe him. Not this time.

"And your own plans, Captain?" Spock asks, and Jim can feel his gaze, but he doesn't turn away from his study of the stars. "Do you intend to visit anyone before you and Engineer Scott are scheduled to begin the refit?"

"There isn't really anyone I want to see." The admittance draws a flush to the back of his neck, but this is Spock. And Spock knows how things stand with his family.

"You have made no plans to visit friends?"

Jim turns to look at him again, smiling at the concerned eyebrows drawn together. "I've had my friends with me for the past five years."

"I am gratified," Spock says quietly. "There are others, however, who you will no doubt wish to contact; people you have not spoken with since our mission began." When Jim just eyes him with puzzlement, he elaborates, "Those with whom you once shared a romantic attachment?"

"Rekindling a romance?" Jim says with a shake of his head and a small frown. "No, not really."

Spock's head tilts, and his own brows are furrowed in his version of a frown. "You have often remarked that to become romantically attached to another while on board the Enterprise would be impractical."

"Impossible," Jim murmurs the correction.

"Due to your position of command," Spock repeats words Jim has only ever admitted while under duress, and Jim crosses his arms over his chest so that he can ball his hands into fists in a bid to counteract the squeezing sensation in his chest.

"It's not something I could have done."  _Because it can't be with you._

"You will have no such constraints during our time on Earth."

"True, but you know me, Spock," he says with small smile as he turns to the viewport again, but this time he's not really seeing the stars. "A lover in every port."

There is a stretch of silence that Jim wants to fill with teasing and smiles. His heart is beating too fast though, the ache scoring his insides until it's difficult to breathe. But breathe he does because Spock isn't privy to any of this, and he's just trying to help. Be a friend, which Jim needs more than he should. Their friendship is enough. So, he turns back to his Vulcan friend, but Spock is studying the stars now.

"I appreciate the concern," he says. After a beat, Spock turns to face him. His expression is neutral, calm. "But I think you and I are more alike than you realize," Jim says, with just a quirk of his lips. "Better on our own."

The most minute lift of Spock's eyebrows are the only sign of any emotion. His voice is flat when he intones, "Indeed."

Which tells Jim he's making Spock uncomfortable. He drops his arms, tries to push the rigidity from his limbs. "We should head back to the bridge," he says, adopting a cheerful tone. "Scotty will be missing his engines. He's actually excited to get back to Earth." He smiles as best he knows how and gestures with a sweep of his hand toward the door. "Shall we?"

Spock's hands flutter to his sides, and some of the tension drains from his spine. He joins Jim at his shoulder as they move away from the stars.

 

\--

Jim stares at the PADD in his hands, unable to process the words that are eminently clear on the screen.  **I hereby resign my commission, effective at the conclusion of the Enterprise's current tour of duty. Spock, Commander, Starfleet.**

Jim lips are slack as he sits heavily on the bunk.

_Resign my commission._

Spock.

The words swim in and out of his brain while his heart hammers against his ribs, turning the biting nausea into a storm. Two days, two days until they're due to make orbit—give the Enteprise a ten month berth in space dock.

Pressing a hand to his face, Jim tries to make the words re-form. There is no sense to them. Why is he leaving? And why hadn't he said anything?

Two days. Two days before he… leaves?

No. It has to be a mistake. It has to be.

Spock can't leave.

Shakily, Jim pushes up. He uncurls his fingers from where they're clutching the PADD as he steps into the corridor and takes the ten steps necessary to Spock's quarters. How many times he's walked this path, countless off-duty hours playing chess, having a quiet dinner while they discussed ship's business?

The idea that it will never happen again…

Jim stops in front of his first officer's door, staring at the blocked identification letters announcing Spock's name. The idea that someone else's name could be there—

He presses the PADD to his stomach, but it doesn't quell the sick feeling. Breathing deeply, he thumbs the button to announce his presence. He feels momentary relief when the door immediately slides open. Because the computer would have identified him, which means Spock isn't reluctant to see him.

He steps inside, and is a little surprised to see candles are the only source of light in the warm room. He squints, and can just make out Spock sitting on his meditation mat in dark Vulcan robes. His steepled fingers obscure his lips; his eyes are focused on the floor.

"Spock?" he begins in a whisper. "I didn't mean to interrupt—"

"You are not," Spock's voice is just as quiet, but infinitely steadier. "I have been expecting you."

An involuntary step, and Jim has to force himself to be still. "You have?"

"You are here to discuss my resignation."

It's worse to hear that word from him. Jim swallows, steadies himself with a hand on the computer terminal. "I don't understand…"

It is a long moment before Spock's gaze lifts. The flicker of candlelight dances in his dark eyes. "The standard form does not allow for explanations," he intones.

The tickle that slides up Jim's throat is unexpected. He has to wrinkle his nose to keep it from taking over. "Okay. Will you explain it to me now?"

The long fingers slide away from Spock's lips, down his chin to perch in his lap, still steepled as his eyes flick away to a point beyond Jim's shoulder. "I am… emotionally compromised."

Jim edges along the desk. Realizing he's holding his breath, he pushes it out slowly. "Why?" he asks, too gruff. "Can you tell me why? If something's happened—"

"I am emotionally compromised," Spock repeats, and it sounds as though he's talking to himself. "In light of this, it is only logical that I return home to undergo a ritual to purge myself of the emotions which plague me."

Jim has no frame of reference to make sense of that. "But then you can come back. You can come back."

"Once the ritual is complete," Spock says to the floor, "I will no longer know you."

"I don't understand," Jim repeats, knowing he sounds ridiculous but not caring. "Spock?"

Spock's head tilts, but still he does not make eye contact. "I have been," he says very quietly, "your friend."

"Yes." Jim finds himself close enough to draw shadows over Spock's face with his torso. "You are. So I don't understand why you're leaving."

"I recently realized that I desire to change the parameters of our association."

"You… don't want to be my friend?"

Finally, Spock meets his gaze. His eyes are a cool as his voice, "I wish to take you as my mate."

"You…" Jim's tongue is no longer working. He flutters a hand stupidly, and doesn't mean to, but he drops to his knees in front of his first officer. "Spock…"

Spock's gaze is solid now, unwavering. "Your wish to seek sexual gratification from a multitude of partners has often troubled me during the course of our association. I attributed this to concern for not only your physical health but your mental health as well."

"My mental…"

"You have frequently admitted to feelings of loneliness," Spock explains in that same measured tone. "I was concerned that your inability to choose a consistent partner contributed to those feelings. I have since realized that I wished to be that partner for you. I was not aware—" Here, the measure falters, and Spock looks away again. "—that you intended to continue your sexual patterns. I did not realize you were gratified by them."

Spock's voice fades into the shadows, and Jim knows he has to say something. Explain how he feels. How much he loves him. But he's not what Spock's looking for. He can't be a consistent sexual partner. Not an active participant in the way Spock obviously wants.

He flounders, his hand fluttering uselessly before he whispers, "But you don't have to go. I don't want you to go."

"Captain," his voice is pained, and Jim slides forward, touches his clasped hands.

"Don't call me captain. Not now."

Spock's chest expands, his eyes suddenly bright in the shadows. His hand is so warm, and Jim wants to cradle it to his lips, offer himself for whatever his first officer wants. Anything to keep him here. "You can't leave," he hears himself saying above the roaring in his own ears, finally admitting the truth he's hidden for so long, "I'm in love with you. I have been—for years. And if you leave…" He swallows, and the rest is mostly breath. "… Spock, I don't think I could bear it."

"Vulcans do not… share their mates," The pain is evident in every word, in the dark eyes. "Jim. I am unversed in the concept of love, but regardless of your feelings, I cannot continue as we have. My mind is chaos—"

"I'm sorry," Jim says, curling his hands over both of Spock's, because he hasn't pulled away. "I didn't know it was a possibility. If I had known, I wouldn't have said that. I don't want anyone else."

Spock's eyebrows slump together and for the span of two heartbeats Jim holds his breath and then long fingers are shifting, encircling his wrist. "You would be willing to give up the possibility of intimacy with others?"

"I never wanted it," Jim whispers, and it's almost an admission, almost truth laid bare. Spock's eyes are bright now, no longer shadows. He lifts Jim's wrist, traces the veins with his free hand.

"Vulcan mates are joined in both mind and body," he says softly. "Will you permit me this?"

Jim's throat is too tight to answer verbally, so he just nods. He knows Spock can sense his emotions like this and hopes his trepidation will be read as nerves.

Spock touches his face then, and Jim blinks rapidly. There's fear in the dark eyes as well; uncertainty. It's easy to let go of his own in the face of it. Jim smiles, leans in and kisses him, just lips pressing lightly but when he pulls back, Spock's eyes are softer, lit from within.

"You wish to copulate at this time?" he asks. If Jim's head wasn't buzzing with the memories of all the times this has gone wrong, he would smile at the archaic phrase. But he just nods and when Spock rises, Jim goes with him.

They stand in the middle of the room, Spock's fingers tracing his face as if he intends to memorize it. Hesitantly, Jim reciprocates and his first officer's lip quirks, which in turn, makes Jim's heart beat a little faster. Whatever Spock wants, he promises himself.

Whatever it takes.

"Do you wish to be the one penetrated?" Spock asks, voice still pitched low and soothing and maybe Jim's fear  _is_  being read correctly. "Or the one to penetrate?"

"Bottom," Jim says automatically. "And I uh… like it from behind. If…" He hesitates because Spock's eyebrows furrow. "If that's okay?"

The frown smoothes away. "I have no objection."

Jim can feel how shaky his smile is. "Do you…" But he doesn't really know how to do this. The beings he sleeps with usually don't need any persuading, and there isn't ever any negotiating. Just doing. So Jim stops thinking and kisses him.

Spock inhales sharply, obviously not expecting it. Jim freezes, uncertainty flooding back, but before he can retreat, Spock pulls him close, his lips moving carefully. As if he's afraid Jim will break under the force of it.

It's probably not helping that he's trembling. He wants to stop, needs to make this good. He trusts Spock, and everything will be okay. He knows it will be. So he grips Spock's tunic to still the tremors and concentrates on the kiss.

His lips are soft and dry, not even a flicker of tongue and he's grateful for that. Fingers eventually slide into his hair, and Jim knows firsthand the strength they command, and for a brief moment he panics, almost pulls away. He stops himself just in time, compensates by sliding his arms around his first officer's neck. Their groins come into contact then and Jim stiffens reflexively, even though he can't feel any signs of an erection.

"Shall we proceed to the bed?" Spock asks, pausing the kiss.

"Sure," Jim says, renewed anxiety making him breathless. "Whatever you want."

Spock's eyes track over Jim's face. There is a slight olive flush to his cheeks. "Will you remove your clothing?"

Nodding clumsily, Jim fumbles with his hem, and after a moment of struggle, Spock pulls the tunic free—the undershirt as well when Jim hesitates. And clearly, his first officer likes what he sees. His eyes are bright, but he doesn't touch. He removes his own shirts and for a moment Jim forgets that this is simply a lead-up to sex.

He brushes his fingers down Spock's chest, enjoying the disparate textures of hair and muscle. Spock is watching him solemnly, curious and also pleased by his interest. He reciprocates and then he's stepping close again, and Jim lifts his face automatically.

Even though Spock's skin is hot, Jim shivers. "You are nervous," Spock murmurs. "If you are uncertain—"

Jim shakes his head quickly, but Spock is studying him, palm flat against his face now and he can obviously feel the lie. "I just never thought…" Jim swallows, squeezes his first officer's flank lightly, right over his heart so he can feel the rapid pulse—fast, even for a Vulcan. "Bed now?" he asks, and hates how thready his voice sounds, how frail.

Spock nods though, and when his fingers reach for Jim's waistband, Jim sucks in a breath without meaning to. He lets it out slowly, smiles at his first officer, takes his hands and pulls him toward the bed.

Once they're on the mattress, it's easier. He can maneuver out of his own pants—and he does, keeps Spock's attention on his face, his groin just out of contact. Spock makes no objection, returns the kisses without hesitation, keeps his hands on Jim's skin, sighs softly when Jim touches his chest or back, but he's holding himself stiffly.

He's a touch telepath—a gift Jim has never experienced in bed. And if he can tell how nervous Jim is—

"Do you want to…" he asks, still too high and warbly. He clears his throat, meets Spock's dark eyes. "Copulate?" he echoes the word Spock used and there is only a second's hesitation before Spock is agreeing.

Murmuring, "As you wish."

He reaches for Jim's waistband again, but Jim intercedes, says softly, in the voice he has practiced so many times, "Let me…"

Spock's hands move away, and he shifts to the side, just enough for Jim to easily access his first officer's buttons. His hands are shaking, which they shouldn't be. He's done this enough time, so many times. This is different.

This is Spock.

He looks up when a warm palm touches his face. Fingers cradle gently, thumb smoothly warmly over his jaw and Jim's throat tightens. But he smiles, because Spock's eyes are smiling, soft.

Jim pushes the pants over his first officer's hips, chest twisting with nerves renewed when he's greeted with the black, regulation underwear. He ignores it, leans up to kiss Spock softly as he hooks his fingers beneath the waistband and pushes those down as well.

Spock is so still, holding his breath just as surely as Jim is. Every being goes about this in a different way; Jim knows that well enough, so it's better sometimes to ask. To know exactly what your partner wants, if they don't say. They nearly always do though.

Jim flutters his fingers. "Do you want me to…?"

Spock's fingertips caress his side, and Jim leans into it without meaning to, but Spock doesn't stop. "If you wish."

Jim nods, finally drops his gaze to Spock's penis, to see what he's got to work with. It's similar to his own, double-ridged though, and faintly green. He's not fully hard though, and Jim looks up again, uncertain.

"I will become fully erect once I am inside you," Spock tells him in the same voice he uses when Jim requests information on the bridge, absolutely calm once again. "We may proceed at any time."

So maybe he's impatient. Vulcans probably find foreplay illogical. And that's okay. Most people Jim sleeps with do, doesn't matter that it's the only tolerable part. The kissing, and touching. The way Spock's palm is curled around his side. He feels safe like this—he did feel safe. He  _could_  feel safe like this.

He shakes himself, focuses on what Spock obviously wants. He smiles. "I'm ready."

Spock's fingers press lightly into his skin. "Please lie on your stomach."

Jim scrambles to do it, dislodging Spock's hand in the process, his face burning and dread already beginning to settle in his chest. Quickly though; do what they ask and then it will be over.

He knows he's trembling, so he squeezes his fingers hard into the pillow just above his head and forces himself to stop. He can feel Spock's warm breath against his back, which means he hasn't moved downward yet. Jim's about to turn his head, but then Spock's hand is between his shoulder blades, hot as it glides over his skin. Like a brand.

One that Jim doesn't think he'll mind. The after will be worth it.

"Humans require preparation before penetration," Spock's voice is hushed this time, cautious. "Will you permit me—"

"Yes," Jim cuts him off, tries to cover the strangled word by pushing his hips up quickly, ass high for whatever Spock wants. "Shouldn't need much…" In case that will help.

"Yes," Spock echoes, the word too tight. Jim wants to turn his head and look at him, but then fingers are sliding down his lower back, down to his ass and Jim squeezes his eyes shut and waits.

He starts when a slick finger circles his hole. He doesn't know if Spock is using spit, or if he just keeps lube near the bed. It doesn't matter. It feels warm though, and foreign and Jim has to focus all his energy on not pulling away from the intrusion.

He holds his breath until the finger pushes in. He tries to breathe out, and instead makes a noise that he tries to muffle in the pillow. Spock's other hand touches down on his back, mirroring the soft caresses from before.

Jim focuses on that, tries to forget the second finger as it joins the first. The fingers move slowly, carefully, twisting. Jim's breathing is erratic, but maybe Spock can't tell.

Spock's fingers pull out, press against him again, this time with a third and Jim blurts, "That's enough! Good," he amends hoarsely. "Ready," he breathes. "Ready…"

The fingers hover. "You are certain?"

Once again, he sounds nervous, voice no longer calm and assured. Jim reaches back blindly, finds an arm and squeezes. "Yeah," he mumbles. "Yeah, go ahead. Fuck me, Spock. Whatever you want."

He squeezes once more before pulling away, aiming his hips higher in invitation because he's never found any being who doesn't like that. And sure enough, a second later, strong hands take his hips, Spock steadying himself. Lifting and adjusting his hips. Jim bites down on one of his own wrists and grips his soft dick with the other hand.

He can feel the head of Spock's dick against his ass. Jim bites down hard as it enters his body. Spock is careful, slow and it doesn't hurt. Not physically. It usually doesn't.

So it's fine.

It's fine when Spock finally bottoms out. Fine that Jim can feel Spock's dick become harder inside him. Fine as he pulls almost all of the way out before pushing in again. Over and over with no sound at all, nothing but the sick squelch of their flesh, and Spock's pelvis slapping Jim's ass.

After several thrusts, Spock reaches around, fingers skimming over Jim's as he seeks his dick, but Jim shakes his head, says through clenched teeth, "I like to do it."

The hand retreats. The pace is interrupted though and it takes a minute to pick up again, for Spock to find his rhythm, and Jim stops thinking, lets himself float as stars burst behind his eyes. Cepheus and Aquarius. His favorite, Aries, ever since his mom told him that was his constellation.  _His_ stars.

They would be Spock's too, he realizes. The human equivalent of a birthday, so close to his own. But he can't think about Spock right now.

But once Spock's face flashes into his mind, he can't stop. Can't stop seeing his dark eyes, or the warmth there. The cautious hope when Jim told him he would stop sleeping around. When he asked to join them in both mind and body.

Mind and body…

Jim's stomach clenches and the hazy sick feeling that always accompanies sex tightens, churns his stomach. If Spock wants to join their minds…

He'll know that Jim doesn't want this. That he's not normal.

Spock will know he lied.

For what? So he can get a cuddle? He doesn't even know if Vulcans cuddle. Of course they don't cuddle, and even if they might, Spock won't. Not after he realizes Jim can't be what he wants.

And then he really will leave.

He's already resigned his commission. So Jim should stop this.

What if Spock doesn't want to stop? He will, Jim knows he will. Of course he will, he wouldn't do that, not if Jim didn't want him to. Because he's Spock and Spock woudn't—

"Jim?"

He realises then that Spock has stopped moving. He can still feel his dick inside, stretching and making Jim's head swim. "Stop," he whispers.

He gasps, not expecting the immediate compliance; it burns as Spock pulls out. Jim's breath breaks into a sob, muffled by his fist as he curls into himself. His ass is throbbing and he thinks he might throw up.

He swallows several times and tries to make the stars disappear from his eyelids.

Eventually the mattress dips, but he's so turned around he doesn't know which way Spock is going. He flinches anyway.

"I have done something wrong," Spock whispers a second later, voice floating somewhere, unanchored by a touch anywhere on Jim's body. "Have I hurt you?"

"No." His voice breaks as he gathers the sheet close, tries to twist it tighter against his body. "I'm  _sorry_ —"

He jerks when Spock touches his shoulder, but the hand stays, fingers curling gently. "Jim?"

Jim shakes his head, swallowing through the ache. It doesn't do any good. "Please don't." Spock's hand falls away; the warmth along with it. "You can go," he says hoarsely. "I'm sorry."

But Spock doesn't move away. "Have I injured you?" he asks again, the worry cracking the words. "Please allow me to help."

"You didn't…" Jim has to press his face into the bed to still the tears that threaten to spill before he can go on, "You didn't hurt me. It's always… always like this."

"I do not understand."

Jim closes his eyes, unable to unlock the words buried since that awful night with Len.

"Captain…"

Jim presses his molars together; it works to force back the tears.

"… I will leave if you wish. I would ask only that you allow me to summon Dr. McCoy—"

Jim's eyes scrape open, his hand shooting out to catch Spock's wrist before he means to. "No, don't. I can't…" His fingers twitch against the hot skin. He knows he should let go. He wants to let go. His fingers squeeze instead and he lifts his head. His heart breaks when he sees the pain in Spock's eyes. "I'm sorry," he whispers, wanting only to take that away. "I'm so sorry, but I can't…"

_… tell you how much you mean to me. Ask you to love me anyway._

Even though he can't say any of that—anything of any worth—it seems to help Spock anyway. "I have observed," he says quietly, "that humans often find speech difficult when under great emotional strain."

Jim doesn't say anything but he's glad Spock hasn't moved his arm.

"If your emotional state is preventing you from voicing your concerns," he goes on carefully, "a meld may be beneficial. I would not intrude without your permission."

Warmth cradles his mind, and with a shaking breath Jim lets him in, allows the tumult free. Truth, freely given for the first time in his life. The shame, the fear, the longing to be like everyone else, the lies and pretenses, the encouragement of a reputation that guaranteed him the contact he craves too much. The carefully crafted skill he honed to keep his bed partners happy and that reputation as a casanova intact.

Spock sees the rest of it too, the vomiting when shame or guilt overwhelmed him, the attempts to forget about Spock while allowing others to use him, to fuck his mind into oblivion, the night Sean realised his dick was flaccid and took offense; put a fist into his face.

The fear that Spock would find out, the overwhelming devastation at the thought of losing him. Just like he loses everyone else.

"You will not lose me."

It takes a moment to realise it's Spock's voice, outside his head, and another to focus on his first officer's face. His own is wet. Jim brushes hastily at his eyes, but it's too late; Spock has seen everything.

But Jim can't find any anger in his expression; his eyes are calm, soft. "You will not lose me," he says again.

Jim can't find words. "I…"

"You do not enjoy sexual stimulation," Spock goes on quietly. "I misunderstood your preferences. Had I known you did not desire intercourse, I would have refrained.

"No, it's my fault," Jim whispers, guilt overwhelming him. "I'm sorry—"

" _Jim_." The soft words make him swallow the rest of his apology. Spock's fingers curl and very slowly, he runs the knuckles over Jim's cheek. "You are operating under a false assumption. It is perhaps my error. Although I am capable of copulation outside of the seven-year cycle, which affects my people, I have no need of it. I do not, in fact, desire it."

Jim blinks hard. "You… what?"

"I made the suggestion solely because I believed you wished it."

"You didn't want to…"

"I was prepared to allow you to take pleasure from our coupling," Spock tells him quietly. "My only desire was to please you."

"Oh my god, Spock, I'm so sorry."

"There is no need for regret."

"I'm sorry," he says hoarsely. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable—"

"You did not," Spock assures him.

"But—"

"We do not view it in the same way, Jim." His words are soft, without censure. "While I have no desire to copulate, neither do I have an aversion to it. It simply is. I could sense your unease, however, and I was… concerned that I was a disappointment to you."

"Spock…" Jim catches the hand still soft against his face, squeezes. "You couldn't be. You could never disappoint me, not ever."

Spock's eyes glint with amusement. "I believe your statement is hyperbole."

But Jim shakes his head, sits up carefully and sandwiches his first officer's hand between his own. "It isn't. You've always been exactly what I needed you to be. And I'm so sorry I didn't explain," he says, throat still catches with the words. "I thought it was what you wanted. I would never purposely hurt you. I need… I need you to know that."

"I am aware," Spock says quietly. "As I trust you are aware that to cause you pain is anathema to me."

"I know." Jim swallows. "And I'm sorry I worried you. I understand… if you want…"

"What I desire—" Spock slides his hand away and spreads his fingers over the meld points on Jim's face. "—is to join our minds as Vulcan mates do. Sexual intimacy is unnecessary between us." A pause, and a frown of consideration between his eyebrows; it makes Jim's chest tight. "It will be four point nine years before I experience the time of mating again. At that time it will become necessary."

But Jim can't focus on anything but the fact that Spock sees a future with him. "You still want to bond with me?"

Spock's face softens. "Affirmative. If you will allow it. I would prefer to return to New Vulcan, where the ritual can be performed by a member of my clan."

"So, you're not to going leave?" Jim asks, and tries to pretend his voice isn't shaking.

"I believe it is my captain's prerogative to deny my resignation request."

Jim smiles shakily. "Request denied, then."

"As you wish."

And Jim is so relieved, he grips Spock's wrists. "Spock, I…"

"You would like to kiss me," Spock finishes for him, and Jim wonders if their minds are still connected.

Jim searches his face. "I don't want to do anything you don't want to do."

Spock dips his head and kisses him, softly and without expectation. It's the first time Jim has ever been kissed like that. Without ever knowing what he's always wanted, this is exactly it.

"Jim," Spock murmurs, before he pulls away just enough that they're looking at each other again. "Before we participate in the bonding ritual, you must understand what will be expected of you during my time of mating."

"I understand," Jim assures him. He remembers exactly what Spock went through during Pon farr. It still hurts to think of him marrying T'Pring.

"I will lose myself," Spock says cautiously. "I may hurt you."

"I understand," Jim repeats.

"We will be required to participate in sexual intercourse, after which will our initial bond will be permanent."

Jim feels his lips twitch. It's not funny, not really, but even after being inside his head, Spock doesn't really seem to understand it was always his choice to have sex in the first place, no matter how much he hated it. "I know, Spock." He cradles the back of Spock's head, lets his thumb soothe a path along his cheek. "I can handle it, I promise."

"It is unlikely to be as easy as you imagine."

But Jim shakes his head. "It's once every seven years, right? Just once when it means I get to keep you here with me the rest of the time. Forever, if you really mean it."

"I see no value in deception." He's teasing, lightly, and Jim smiles to hear it. He doesn't think the sex will be easy when it eventually happens, but he's never been one to shy away from the hard stuff. Especially when it means he gets Spock in return.

"I've been in love with you for the better part of the last eight years," he says, because it's the best way to explain. "If I'd had even a  _hint_  that you felt the same way…"

"It is illogical to indulge in regret," Spock says thoughtfully. "However, I will point out that had either of us communicated our desires, we both would have been spared unnecessary pain."

Jims tips his head, one side of his mouth ticking up. "Is that your way of saying we should talk about things instead of making assumptions?"

"Vulcans value honesty."

Jim doesn't point out that Spock didn't say anything either, but the sardonic tilt of his first officer's eyebrow tells him he doesn't need to. Jim smiles. "Honesty sounds good to me." A pause to work himself up to ask, "And you're sure sex isn't something you want?" It's hard to believe it, even though he knows Spock wouldn't lie.

"I am quite certain, Jim." Spock kisses him again, reassuring. Jim wonders if kissing is something Vulcans normally do, or if it's just for him. He wonders, so he asks.

"Vulcans generally prefer other forms of touch," Spock tells him, after considering the question for a minute. "I find that I enjoy kissing you. I will, however, demonstrate Vulcan customs if you wish."

"Yes, please."

He grins when Spock arranges them on the bed. It's cuddling, is what it is, Spock stretched along Jim's side. They're both still naked, but Jim doesn't mind that; never has.

"Contact, unfettered by clothing, enhances the meld between bondmates," Spock explains. "A Vulcan finds it soothing."

That's perfect then.

"So do I," Jim sighs. And in the spirit of honesty, he asks, "Can we try it the other way?" Spock's confused brows smooth when Jim explains, "I like to be held."

Spock obliges, the hum of contentment like a beacon as he pulls Jim close. Soothing, for both of them. Jim kisses his first officer's shoulder and Spock's arms tighten. "This pleases you?" he asks quietly.

"Yeah. It does." Jim breathes out, splays his fingers over Spock's where they rest on his chest. "Does it please you?"

"Immensely."

Jim smiles and winds their fingers together, happier than he can ever remember being. Being wrapped in Spock's arms, being  _wanted_  by Spock... it's everything.


End file.
